


On The Mend

by TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone



Series: Shards of Porcelain [1]
Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Brahms needs a new mommy, Don't care, F/M, Greta will do, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mommy Issues, Mommy Kink, childlike brahms, is it still mommy kink?, not sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 04:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone/pseuds/TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone
Summary: Brahms needs Greta like he's never needed anyone before. He's confused though, one part wants a Mommy that loves him and cares for him and the other part wants a lover.





	On The Mend

**Author's Note:**

> I love this movie. I love Brahms, don't we all?

He laid on his side, curled in a tight ball, the pain in his stomach was something new and wholly unwanted, truth be told, but Brahms didn't seem to have much of a choice considering Greta had been the one to drive the screwdriver into him and wasn't that betrayal a worse pain?

Brahms grunted and squeezed his eyes shut, no, no betrayal hurt on the inside, the screwdriver was a much more tangible pain. He panted and reached up to pull the thing out by the handle, he tried to hold in the loud whine but it managed to escape his lips anyway as he tugged the household item out of his gut, panting loudly then flopping back and breathing shallowly, he lifted the neck of his shirt out of the way to examine the damage.

It appeared that the shaft of the screwdriver had gone between his skin and the abdominal wall upwards toward his ribcage and it bled a bit but otherwise he didn't think it was too bad.

He cried loudly anyway.

How could Greta _do_ this to him? After he was a good boy and got rid of that nasty intruder like she asked him to? Or did she expect that doll to do all the work? No, the doll's only job was to look pretty and it couldn't do that anymore since the head was shattered, now could it?

Brahms was considering putting the screwdriver back in, only this time he would maybe put it higher and deeper, when he heard the door open again. He held his breath and held very still, trying to quiet himself as footsteps carried through the silent house, up the stairs . . . down the hall . . . they hesitated outside the door and Brahms wondered if he could make it to his secret door in time until the door swung open and _she_ stepped in.

Greta looked tired and her clothes were dirty, hair disheveled, her eyes fell on Brahms and he just stared at her, had she come to finish the job? Do him in properly this time? He wanted to get up and run, but he couldn't find the energy to, his fingers twitched and he licked his lips,

“Greta . . . ?”

She shook her head and looked around, “I had to take Malcolm to the hospital . . . you really did a number on his head.”

Brahms swallowed thickly, his hand pressed to his abdomen, he wouldn't apologize for that, the grocery boy had earned the trouncing, bastard thought he could barge into Brahms's room, take Greta away and not face a beating?

“I wouldn't have stabbed you if you'd been a good boy and gone to sleep.” Greta muttered, her eyes fell on the screwdriver and she sighed, moving to kneel in front of Brahms, “I was going to come right back!”

Brahms shifted nervously, he was in too much pain to try and be bigger than Greta, the righteous indignation that had fueled him before just about fizzled out and he whimpered, “I'm sorry, I'll be good, I promise! Please, Greta, it _hurts_!”

Greta nodded and gently pushed on Brahms's hand, “Let me see.”

Brahms held his breath as Greta felt around the bruised wound and grimaced,

“It doesn't look too bad. Can you get up?”

Greta helped Brahms to his feet, he swayed as the pain caused a wave of nausea to roll over him, Brahms hissed in a breath and leaned heavily on Greta as she led him out of the doll's room,

“ . . . Greta?”

She didn't look at him, before answering, “Hm?”

“I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to hurt you. I got . . . I got angry . . . “ Brahms mumbled as Greta nudged her bedroom door open and led him in.

“I know but you better not ever do that again, do you understand?” Greta glared up at Brahms, “You didn't like it when Cole choked me out, don't you _ever_ do it to me.”

Brahms ducked his head and swallowed, “Yes, Greta . . . I'll be good.”

“Good.” Greta muttered then turned them toward her bathroom, Brahms stopped walking and she tripped a little in surprise, “What?”

Brahms shifted his weight and shook his head, “I don't want a bath.”

“Yeah, well, you definitely need one. I have to clean your wound anyways. Your clothes are filthy. And I don't know who is in charge of your hair and beard but it's a mess. C'mon.” Greta gave Brahms another tug but the tall man held very still and wouldn't budge, “Brahms, _now_.”

Brahms whined lowly behind the mask and dropped his gaze to the floor but let Greta lead him to the bathroom and she nudged him toward the sink while she turned the tub faucet on, holding her hand under the water before putting the stopper in and then she turned to Brahms,

“Alright, let's have the mask and take off your clothes.”

Brahms fingers twitched and he shook his head, putting his hands up to hold the mask in place. Greta sighed and walked over,

“C'mon, it's okay, you're safe, it's just you and me and I promised I'd take care of you, didn't I? It's okay, you can trust me, Brahms.”

Her voice was soothing and soft and he slowly put his hands down, reaching out toward her and tilting his head slightly until his fingers brushed over her shoulders and he slid forward, pressing against Greta and closing his eyes. Brahms held very still as Greta ran her fingers up his back, the nape of his neck, and sank into his unruly curls to the tie of the mask. He grunted as the tie gave and the mask was slid off then he pulled away and turned to the wall, swallowing as Greta put the mask on the bathroom counter, then she came up behind him,

“C'mon, let me see you.”

Brahms shook his head, “You won't like it, no one does. Mummy and Daddy said I have to wear the mask because I look wrong.”

Greta shook her head, “I don't care what they said, they aren't here now, are they?”

Brahms snuffled and shook his head, “ . . . no.”

“Then listen to me and what I'm saying, I'm not afraid of you, Brahms.” The slight tremor in her voice made him think otherwise but he decided to believe her this time and slowly turned to her, his chin still pressed to his chest with his hair falling around his face, “There we go, not so hard, is it?”

Brahms whined and shifted, he wanted very badly for Greta to like him, to like looking at him like she liked looking at the doll, holding the doll . . . touching the doll, but he also didn't want to risk seeing her look like how Mummy looked whenever he came out of the walls during storms or how Daddy looked at him when Brahms tried to sit with him in the study. He didn't want to see that look on Greta's face, he loved looking at her and seeing her when she was relaxed, sleeping, or just sitting reading and drinking wine. He never _ever_ wanted her to look at him like they all looked at him.

Greta slid her hands up his chest and cupped his face, lifting it up and for a brief moment he saw the revulsion flit through her eyes and he almost pulled away but then Greta's thumbs stroked over his cheeks and she smiled,

“There's my handsome boy.”

Brahms blinked at her, Greta dropped her hands and went to the tub to turn the water off, Brahms took this opportunity to look in the mirror and he grimaced, he was badly scarred from the fire. Across a majority of his forehead, part of the bridge of his nose, across his left cheekbone and then down to his jaw and neck, disappearing under his sweater where the scars continued across his back and arm with more twisted, puckered flesh winding over his left hip and along his leg giving him a slight limp. Brahms resisted the urge to shatter the mirror into a million little useless pieces.

“Okay, now get undressed.”

Brahms's spine stiffened and he slowly turned to stare at Greta, his ears and cheeks turning a deep red then he shrugged out of his cardigan and held it tightly in his hands, wringing it slightly until Greta huffed impatiently and walked up to him, taking the cardigan and chucking it on the floor,

“Water won't stay hot forever, Brahms.”

She slid her fingers under his suspenders and slid them off his shoulders then gently untucked his undershirt and started to pull it over his head. Brahms shivered slightly as his upper half was now bare and he saw Greta look over him briefly before she undid the front of his slacks,

“You wearing drawers or going commando?”

Brahms tilted his head, “I don't-”

“Underwear, Brahms, are you wearing underwear or am I going to get the full Monty when these drop? I'd like to be prepared.” Greta's hand was holding the waistband of Brahms's slacks tightly and she was staring at the wound in his stomach or his navel, it was hard to tell.

“I-I didn't have time,” Brahms shifted, “Otherwise I would be properly dressed.”

He had an idea that Greta must think he can't take care of himself very well since this was how he'd inadvertently introduced himself to her. She must think he never shaved or washed or wore clean clothes . . . Brahms bit his lip in embarrassment then gasped as his pants were dropped to the floor and he stood fully naked and blushing in front of his Greta.

Greta briefly looked him over and she mouthed something like ' _oh_ _boy_ ' before she abruptly turned to the bath,

“Okey doke, get in.”

Brahms took a slow breath then moved to the tub and climbed in, sitting with his back to her and he pulled his legs up to hug them tightly, hunching in on himself. He glanced back at Greta to watch her slip out of her sweatshirt and grab the washcloth and soap, he blinked as she lathered the cloth before Greta leaned over and started to wash over his back and Brahms relaxed.

He sighed and leaned into her touch, her fingers stroked over his shoulders then around his neck and over his chest. Brahms huffed and pressed his face into Greta's shoulder as she washed around the wound in his stomach, he reached up and stroked his large hands over her forearms, his mouth falling open in a confused pant when her hands deftly moved over the muscles in his stomach to his hips. Brahms leaned up and kissed Greta's jaw but then he yelped and leapt back when her hands delved lower between his spread legs.

They stared at each other for a long moment, both flushed and breathless and Brahms knelt in the tub, his chest heaving and he licked his lips. He really wanted her to do that again, he wanted to feel her fingers down where he ached, where blood was pooling and his flesh hardened, bobbing slightly in the water. He wanted a great deal of things that were confusing and previously off-limits but he had no idea what words to use to convey his need so he sat back in the bathtub and cried in frustration, slapping the water angrily and then groaned when Greta hurriedly stood up to get away, she probably thought he was angry with her but just the opposite. Brahms hiccuped and reached out for her,

“No! No, my Greta, please . . . !” Brahms shook his head and bit his lip.

Greta licked her lips, her eyes flitting to the door, “Tell me what you want, Brahms, or you can finish up by yourself.”

Brahms stared up at her then ducked his head and shook his head, Greta took a cautious step closer, her hands open in front of her as if she were approaching a volatile animal,

“I-I,” Brahms swallowed and he felt his throat clench as he fought with how to tell her what he wanted, “I don't-”

“Do you even _know_ what you want?” Greta asked softly, sliding back down to her knees and staring at him.

Brahms shook his head miserably and dropped his hands to his lap, his fingers brushing over his cock absently and he shivered. Greta pursed her lips then reached out her hand,

“Come here, Brahms, it's alright, let's get you finished up here and we can work on the other bit later.”

Brahms didn't really know what she was referring to in either regard but he moved toward her anyway and turned around when she twirled her finger. He let her wash his hair and when he climbed out of the tub she wrapped a towel around his waist, not commenting on how it was tented in the front while she busied herself with first bandaging him up then went about finding a shaving kit and something for Brahms to wear while he sat on the closed toilet lid and watched her, doing his best to keep his hands to himself and folded in his lap like a good boy.

Greta returned with some of his daddy's pyjama pants and shaving kit, “Okay, these probably will _not_ fit you very well, you're a lot taller than Mr. Heelshire, but they'll do for now.”

“I-I have pyjamas . . . “ Brahms murmured, looking at the floor.

“I just gave you a bath, you're not going about behind the walls and getting filthy again, especially not since you don't wear shoes. Gross.” Greta muttered, “Stand up.”

Brahms obeyed, watching Greta as she got down on one knee in front of him and held out the pants. Part of him wanted to tell her he could do that on his own, much like the bath, but another part of him didn't want to, he wanted to be babied and coddled, he wanted her to do all the things she did for that stupid doll all day long, he wished he wasn't so big or she could carry him and hold him too. He was lost in his thoughts until the towel was pulled off and he and Greta were faced with another dilemma.

Greta blinked at Brahms's cock, she slowly looked up at Brahms and tilted her head back, “If you want something, speak now or forever hold thy peace or whatever.”

Brahms blushed and stared at her, his erection twitched as if to answer her and he breathed out heavily, speaking in a soft, unnaturally high voice, “What should I ask for?”

Greta stared at him then her hand slid up his thigh and wrapped around the thick length, “You're the one with the boner.”

Brahms blinked, “'Boner'?”

Greta shook her head and stroked Brahms, making his gasp and thrust his hips a bit, pushing into her hand while his own hands twitched and clenched at his sides. This was another thing he wanted to say he could do himself, that he knew what this was and what to do with it but . . . he didn't want to be by himself anymore.

Greta's fingers tightened around him, pulling on the shaft and making the foreskin slide back, exposing the head, her lips twitched then she leaned forward and pressed a dry kiss to the tip, pink tongue flicking out to taste him.. Brahms's eyes widened and he gasped, his fingers slid over her head to tangle in her hair and he panted, whimpering when she pulled him fully into her mouth, sucking every inch of him down until her nose buried in dark curls that wreathed his groin.

Brahms threw his head back and moaned brokenly at the ceiling as his cock pulsed and he came, sooner than he wanted and clearly faster than Greta anticipated as she sputtered and sat back gagging and smacking her lips,

“Sorry,” Brahms breathed as she grimaced and started to pull the pyjama pants up his legs, they were indeed several inches too short, “That was too quick . . . “

“No, it's fine,” Greta murmured, standing and staring up at Brahms's flushed, scarred face, “Next time will be better.”

Brahms swallowed and felt his heart skip a beat, “Next time?”

“You do want me to do that again, don't you?” Greta cocked an eyebrow and lead Brahms over to the toilet and gestured for him to sit.

Brahms's ears reddened and he nodded dumbly as Greta tilted his head back and started to lather up his face. Once he was shaved and his hair was brushed back off his face, Greta lead him into her room and turned down the bed,

“With you tonight?” Brahms asked softly, fidgeting and tugging on the pant-strings.

“Do you want to sleep by yourself?” Greta asked, Brahms shook his head emphatically, “Alright then, get in bed.”

Brahms slowly moved to obey, if he was a good boy then Greta would be happy and he liked it when she was happy. He crawled under the covers and laid on his back, watching as Greta pulled the blankets over him and smoothed the duvet,

“They're not coming back, are they?”

“Who, Brahms?” Greta asked as she turned to her dresser.

Brahms put his arms on top of the duvet and looked at his fingers, “Mummy and Daddy.”

Greta sighed and shook her head, “No, they aren't.”

“ . . . I thought not.”

Brahms looked up at Greta started to change with her back to him into a loose white shirt and a pair of worn flannel pants. She climbed onto the bed and settled on the other side next to Brahms, he slowly scooted over and tucked his head into her shoulder, sighing contentedly for what felt like the first time in a long time as she put her arms around his shoulders and stroked his hair.

“We don't need them, Brahmsy, don't you ever cry over them. They didn't love you, but I won't leave you, I'll never leave you again.” Greta murmured and she kissed the top of his head.

Brahms felt his lips twitch up in the corners in what might have been a smile but he couldn't be entirely sure.

 


End file.
